


primum non nocere

by weakinteraction



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Anal Sex, F/F, Medical Kink, Strap-Ons, Time Shenanigans, mentions of Martha's previous relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/pseuds/weakinteraction
Summary: The sudden reappearance of a very different Doctor in her life makes everything complicated for Martha, but from another point of view, things are much simpler this time around.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Martha Jones
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29
Collections: The First Annual Femslash Kink Exchange 2020





	primum non nocere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheseusInTheMaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/gifts).



Martha Jones had been many things: a daughter, a sister, a regional runner-up in the All-London Primary Schools Poetry Competition (6-8 category), a straight-A* secondary school pupil, a medical student, an explorer of the universe, a maid in 1913 who was really an undercover protector of a Time Lord in disguise, a shop assistant for _far_ too many months of 1969, the woman who'd walked a ruined Earth that hardly anyone remembered, a high level UNIT operative, a freelancer dealing with alien situations after UNIT was closed down ... If anything, her present job was practically semi-retirement.

Albeit, most people's idea of semi-retirement probably wasn't being the most senior doctor in the first ever hospital equipped to serve both human and Silurian patients. But, as the shadowy board of trustees behind the project had put it when they'd recruited her, she was uniquely qualified for such work.

Apparently, several different sets of hibernating Silurians had awoken over the past decades, possibly even centuries. Most previous encounters had ended poorly -- the fact that the Cwmtaff Incident had ended with them going back into hibernation was seen as one of the most positive outcomes. In what she was allowed to read of the reports, she thought she detected the Doctor's hand at work. But then, only a few years later, the Cumbrian nest had awoken, and this time, things had gone well. The Silurians claimed that they were more peaceable than some of their counterparts, but Martha suspected that it was humanity that had changed -- as environmental crises mounted year-on-year, the survival of the Silurians was a story of hope; hope that they might be able to share their advanced technology, or perhaps hope that, if the worst came to the worst, humanity could join them to sleep through to a time when the Earth was more inhabitable.

And so it was that over the last few years, Martha had had a crash course in Silurian anatomy and biochemistry, to the point where she had been described more than once -- though she had never willingly accepted the label -- as the foremost human expert on Silurian medicine.

This latest case that they were discussing in conference was stumping her, though. A Silurian, Airon, had been found critically ill out on the moor, struggling in ways that her robust biology should never have allowed. After a week of unsuccessful treatments, they were no closer to finding the answer, and so had now resorted to painstakingly picking over Airon's entire gene sequence in search of clues.

"Show me again," Martha said.

Menok made an air gesture that the computer interpreted as an attempt to close down the whole holographic display, which made Menok swear in some obscure Silurian dialect. Despite successive refinements they'd made to the motion sensor firmware, it still had trouble with claws.

"One day, you're going to have to tell me what all those swearwords mean," Martha said with a smile.

"The general sentiment was 'what do you expect from something made by mammals?'" Giora put in.

"OK, maybe I _shouldn't_ have asked."

After a few false starts, Menok restored the display, and returned to the DNA sequence, exquisitely rendered in three dimensions. "I've never seen anything like _that_ before," Martha said. She reached into the display volume, different non-coding sections flickering as her finger went past them in case she wanted to select them, but all she was doing was pointing at the mutation that she thought might be causing Airon such difficulty.

Menok studied the site for a moment, then said, in a solemn tone, "We have."

As always, Martha looked to Giora for more of an explanation. "It's a biological weapon," she said. "One of ours." Menok turned his third eye on her and she went on hurriedly, "Not from _our_ nest, of course. But a Silurian one, nonetheless."

Menok swore again, this time with much more feeling. "Sorry, Dr Jones," he said. "But these techniques were never supposed to be used against fellow Silurians. It is a -- what is that word of yours? -- an abomination."

Before Martha could reply, there was a knock at the door, followed immediately by Amanda, one of the junior house officers, running in. "Sorry, Dr Jones, I know you're in conference, but ... there's a bit of a situation developing in Reception."

"Go," Giora said, seeing Martha's hesitancy. "You've helped us identify the problem. Now we just have to hope that we can solve it."

Martha nodded and followed Amanda out, emerging from the darkness in which they had been studying the holovolume into the bright artificial light of the main atrium. The conference room was on a mezzanine floor, and she could see Reception clearly from the balcony in front of it.

There were three people -- part of her still wanted to call them "civilians" -- creating enough confusion that there may as well have been thirty of them. They had broken into the staff area, where Martha could tell at a glance the receptionists were using their de-escalation training; meanwhile, waiting patients were slowly backing away.

Martha sprinted down the stairs, leaving Amanda far behind her.

"They say they want to speak to someone in charge, Dr Jones," Gethin, the receptionist, said.

"Well, then, I guess that's me," Martha said. "Do you three want to explain yourselves?" Up close, they seemed both less threatening and more determined than when they'd simply been figures in the tableau she could see from above.

One of them was much older than the other two, and perhaps subconsciously Martha had thought that he was in charge, but it was the young woman who spoke. "Dr Jones, Have you got an evacuation plan?" she asked. Her tone was all business, as though she was used to dealing with emergencies.

Just then, all the lights went out. The emergency lighting flickered on after a moment. "Of course we do," she said.

The young woman picked up Gethin's swivel chair and held it out in front of herself as a makeshift defence. "I _very_ strongly advise you to activate it."

In a split second, Martha decided that whatever was happening -- or about to happen -- these people were not the cause of it. She swiped across to the phone function on her wrist device. It still showed a connection -- the emergency power kept communication infrastructure going as well as the lighting and life support and other vital functions on the wards. "This is Jones, authorisation alpha-sigma-426. Code Mauve. I repeat, Code Mauve. This is not a drill. This is _not_ a drill."

Lights began to flash and the automated announcements began to play, directing everyone who could leave the building to do so, and those with care of patients who absolutely could not be moved to engage full lockdown for an indefinite period. All around them, people began to move quickly but calmly to the exits, assisting patients, checking areas were clear. She imagined Menok and Giora, anxiously waiting with their patient in critical care. She was proud of all of them.

"You need to get out of here too," the young man said earnestly as he and the older man began to move trolleys to form a barricade. "I mean _run_."

Martha didn't move.

"Didn't you hear what Ryan said?" the older man said. "You need to get out of here. For your own safety."

"I can handle myself," Martha replied. "Trust me."

"She can, you know." The voice behind her was one Martha had never heard before, and yet when she turned to see who had spoken she recognised her instantly, despite how different she was from the Doctor Martha had known. "Yaz, Ryan, Graham, this is Martha Jones. Martha, this is ... the fam."

Martha allowed one of her eyebrows to twitch upwards for a moment at that, but she simply said, "Nice to meet you all." Knowing that these were the Doctor's latest companions _did_ make a lot more sense out of everything that had been happening.

"Wait, you mean, you know the Doctor?" It was the young woman -- Yaz.

"Oh, a long, long time ago," the Doctor said. "Relatively speaking! From my point of view," she added hurriedly.

"It was quite a long time ago for me as well," Martha said. "Nearly twenty-five years."

"Ah, what's a quarter century between friends?" The Doctor suddenly ran up to Martha and hugged her tightly. The others looked surprised, as though that wasn't something this Doctor did very often. "Martha Jones," she said warmly as she just as suddenly let go again. "Amazing." She let out a long sigh, then said, "Anyway, I was right, it's _definitely_ Gandomorphodons." She reached into her pocket to hold up a small metal object as proof; Martha knew instantly that it was the sonic screwdriver -- just like the Doctor, it was completely different in appearance and exactly the same in essence.

"What's a Gandomorphodon?" Martha asked.

"Those are," the Doctor said, nodding.

Martha wheeled round. A group of squat aliens was streaming in through the doors, fanning out into a V-shaped formation. They each held in their right hand something that looked a bit like a glowing mace, crackling with energy. They were bipedal, with scaly skin and protruding snouts. One of them bared its teeth, and there were a lot of them, looking decidedly pointy.

"Just like old times, eh?" the Doctor said. "I mean, space crocodiles instead of space rhinos, but still--"

"Wait, you've met the Judoon?" the young man said. Ryan, the old man had called him, which left the old man himself to be Graham. Martha could tell that he knew it wasn't really the time, but he simply hadn't been able to contain his excitement.

Sharing mutual reminiscences would have to wait, though. The lead Gandomorphodon was speaking, its language comprising mostly of hissing. After a moment, a clear human voice came out of its energy mace thingy -- apparently it was a translator as well as a weapon. "You will cease to harbour the Old Terrestrial filth or this facility will be deconstructed."

"Think you might have a bit of a glitch in your translation matrix, there," the Doctor said. "Unless you've got Derrida Guns on your spaceship. That would be pretty cool, actually. Do you have them? I'd love to take a look. Oh, hey, I wonder what they'd make of _me_."

Soon after the Doctor had started speaking, the mace had begun hissing back to the leader. He looked increasingly puzzled as it translated the Doctor's stream of consciousness, especially when it gave up completely on "Derrida" and just repeated the name.

Martha decided to try a more direct approach. "You're talking about the Silurians, aren't you?" Martha said. "Your people know them?"

The device paused for a moment, then after some hissing back and forth, said, "We have accessed your planetary communications network. That is correct."

"This facility is open to all," Martha said steadily. "And will remain so. Your threats don't impress me."

More hissing, and then the mace spoke again. "The Old Terrestrial filth were thought to be extinct. This has proved to be erroneous. We will correct the error." Those statements could have been innocuous enough, especially given the way the mace's neutral, even voice irresistibly reminding Martha of a digital personal assistant. But this wasn't "we'll update the database", it was "if they're not extinct, we're going to make sure they are".

"That would make sense, actually," the Doctor said off-handedly. "They didn't go around having a huge interstellar empire like you lot will, over and over and over again, but the Silurians _were_ space travellers. They'd have encountered other people around on the galactic scene at the time. Makes sense they'd have made some enemies." She clapped her hands. "This is all some million-years-long grudge, isn't it?" She lunged forward at the Gandomorphodons, then retreated slightly again as the nearest ones brandished their energy maces. "Sometimes, you've got to let bygones be bygones. After a couple of epochs, it's really all just water under the bridge."

"What _are_ you talking about?" Yaz asked as the leader listened to the translation.

" _Long_ story," the Doctor said out of the side of her mouth. "Thousands of millennia in the making. I'll explain later."

The leader was responding again. The mace translated, "Time is relative. For us, the wounds are fresh."

The Doctor's eyes went wide. "Of course! The Gandomorphodons never cracked supralight travel, did you? You've been charging across the galaxy in an ultrarelativistic spaceship, ginning yourselves up for your revenge mission, so close to the speed of light that time _nearly_ came to a standstill, while the rest of the galaxy went on without you." She turned to Martha. "You haven't got an orbital scan system handy, have you? No, of course not, stupid question -- this is a hospital and they won't be standard equipment for all public facilities until 2120. But if you _did_ , I bet you'd find a huge spaceship hanging in orbit, with just the tiniest remains of an ice shield still attached." She turned back to the Gandomorphodon. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Gandomorphodon reaction drives are the fastest in all known space," came the eventual reply once the translation back and forth had finished.

"Well, maybe they were, seventy-odd million years ago," the Doctor said. "But times have moved on. These days you've got your hyperspace lanes, your blink drives--"

As the Doctor carried on talking, the pieces of the puzzle were assembling themselves inside Martha's head. As they did so, and the horrifying picture became clear, she felt as though she had been far too slow on the uptake. "You're the ones who turned their biological weapon on them, aren't you? Airon was meant to be patient zero, but we got her into isolation ... That's why you've homed in on here, specifically."

The Doctor was nodding along. Without waiting for the Gandomorphodon to reply, she said, "But how would they have access to it, unless ... They used it on you, didn't they?" she asked the Gandomorphodon.

"We are the last," the Gandomorphodon leader said.

"I'm so sorry," Martha said, hearing the Doctor say the exact same thing at the exact same time. She remembered with a sudden gut punch that the Doctor had lost everything, too.

The leader was still talking, and the device translated, "They did not seek to conquer, they merely perceived us as ... vermin to be eliminated. When our sensors detected the cataclysm, we celebrated, but our course was still irrevocably locked for this planet, our velocity too great to do anything than follow our preprogrammed deceleration vector. Imagine our horror when we arrived to discover that the cataclysm had not been the final end of the filth after all."

"I'm sorry for what happened to your people," Martha said. "But doing this won't bring them back, it will just cause more misery. The people I work with, Giora and Menok and all the others, they're good people, they're working to make things better. They're _doctors_."

Even though the Doctor's face was so different, the look that came over it at that moment was heartbreakingly familiar to Martha, and exciting too -- she was having An Idea. "That's it!" she said. "We _can_ make this better. Martha, you said you have Silurian doctors working here? Working on the cure for the plague?"

"I've just come from talking to them about it," Martha said.

The Doctor was pacing now, gesticulating as she talked. "If they can reverse engineer a retroviral therapy, we can take it back to your homeworld and stop their plague before it started."

Yaz furrowed her brow. "But Doctor, won't that cause a ... paradox?" Martha had been having the same thought, but didn't want to put it into words; the memory of the sky ripped open, Toclafane streaming out, still haunted her nightmares to this day.

"Yeah," Ryan said, "isn't it basically cheating?"

The Doctor waved her hand. "All we need to do is make sure that the Gandomorphodons here still leave on their mission, so that they're here now to meet us to make us realise that we can do it. It'll be _fine_."

"Still sounds like cheating to me to be honest, Doc," Graham said.

"Tiny bit cheating," the Doctor admitted. "But much better than being deconstructed, eh?"

* * *

Three days later, they were finally back on Earth. Menok, Giora and half a dozen of their colleagues had raced against the clock to produce what the Doctor had ended up insisting on calling an "antivirus", much to Martha's chagrin. Then they had returned to the Gandomorphodon home planet with the aliens, who were welcomed as heroes as they cured the plague in its earliest stages.

Then had come the hard bit -- arranging for the mission to go ahead. Seeing what had become of their future selves, each and every one of the Gandomorphodon crew volunteered to have their memory wiped and replaced by the false memories of the death of their entire people. Martha had thought that was astonishing, but the Doctor had suggested that the crew had always been the ones who'd been most likely to volunteer, and then muttered a lot about how self-consistent closed timelike curves were _not_ the same as paradoxes.

It had been just like old times. Or nearly. Seeing the Doctor again had brought back all the old feelings -- the wonder, the excitement, the longing for _more_ of all of it -- but she had told herself sternly to keep those feelings about what it was like to travel with the Doctor separate from her feelings about the Doctor herself. She still _loved_ the Doctor -- she'd taught everyone on Earth to love the Doctor, whether they remembered it or not -- but, she kept trying to convince herself, that wasn't the same as being _in love_ with her. Even if this new version was every bit as attractive as the previous one.

Now the Doctor had piloted the TARDIS with _exquisite_ precision into Martha's garden, such that it was resting precariously on top of the shed. The Doctor had unfurled a rope ladder she'd "kept around just in case it might be useful again" and they'd climbed down.

Martha had invited them all in for a cup of tea; Menok and Giora had demurred, claiming they had pressing business back at the hospital, but the TARDIS crew -- the "fam" -- had accepted readily.

"There's one thing I don't understand," Ryan said as he took his third biscuit. "Well, OK, that's not true; there's lots of things I don't understand. But ... Doctor, we've been to the future, I mean, further in the future, and we've never met these Silurians there. What's going to happen?"

"He's got a point," Graham said.

"Remember," the Doctor said, "I've told you before -- time is constantly in flux. Except for when there's a fixed point. Which ... we might accidentally have created another one of with all that mucking about, but never mind. Anyway, thing is, almost all of time: in flux. This version of 2030 might be one that leads to a better future than the ones we've seen."

"That's what a lot of people here are hoping too," Martha said. It seemed weird to her to hear them talking about her present as the future, when they'd come from a year that was much further along than the time she'd departed with the Doctor had been.

"You know what?" Graham said. "I think I'd like to see more of this 2030, if it really is on the road to a better future. We can order one of those self-driving taxis into town, right?"

"Good idea," Yaz said. "Go shopping with the Silurians. Wait, how does money work now?"

Martha was just trying to work out how much she could afford to lend them on disposable chips when the Doctor fished into her pockets and removed three personal devices -- one wrist-mounted like Martha's, one a necklace, and the last styled as a retro 2010s smartphone. "These will access as much as you need," she said.

"You coming, Ryan?" Graham said, offering him the wrist one.

"I might stay and have another cup of tea, actually," Ryan said, but then, in response to a light punch on the arm from Yaz, added, "Though I s'pose we could go and see if they've got 6-D cinema or something."

They all walked to the door. "Be back for bedtime!" the Doctor said as the three of them headed out. "And no looking up what happens to your families!"

"Well, now they're bound to," Martha said as the door closed.

"Nah, I trust 'em," the Doctor said. "You know, I think they were trying to give us time to talk. Alone."

"I had picked up on that, yeah," Martha said. "It has been a bit hectic these last few days."

The Doctor grinned. "Look at you. Martha Jones! Brilliant! That _was_ a brilliant idea, make things better."

As far as Martha was concerned it had been the Doctor's idea, she'd just inspired it. "Well, that's what doctors are supposed to do."

"Right," the Doctor said, looking down at her own feet. Martha followed her gaze and couldn't help but be distracted by what had to be the impracticality of having bare ankles as you were running for your life. What if there were poisonous stinging plants or something?

 _Stop looking at the Doctor's ankles,_ Martha told herself. "Let's go and sit back down," she said.

Once they were back in the living room, it was a long time before the Doctor said any more. "I wasn't in a great place, back then," she said eventually. "It's not an excuse, but ... the whole Time War thing ... Thinking I was responsible for the destruction of my homeworld--"

"Wait," Martha said, " _thinking_ you were?"

The Doctor looked up again. "Oh, yeah, well you see, later -- but also earlier, from some points of view -- it turned out that we -- that's a "we" that's just a plural "I", it was well, all the previous mes, really. Wait, no, not _all_ of them, as it turns out, that's a whole different story-- Anyway, a probably just about quorate number of Doctors, piloting enough versions of the TARDIS, locked Gallifrey into a pocket universe for its own protection at the precise moment that the Dalek fleet fired."

Martha was floored. "So it was never destroyed in the first place?"

"No, I thought it was ... For a long time, including all the time we were together. But, turns out, you can get away with cheating, as long as everyone remembers what they're supposed to remember when they're supposed to remember it."

"So Gallifrey's back? That's wonderful! Doctor ..." Martha trailed off again as she saw the look of anguish on the Doctor's face.

"It _was_ back. Not that that was plain sailing, the Time Lords being the way they are. Were." Martha noted the shift in tense a moment before she realised that the Doctor was looking her in the eye again, her intense gaze clouded by an all too familiar look of unfathomable grief. "But ... it's not back any more." The Doctor's voice was on the verge of breaking when she said, "It was him."

Martha didn't need to be told who "he" was. She wasn't sure she could trust herself to say anything in response, though.

"I've made mistakes in my life, Martha," the Doctor said. "Far, far too many of them to count. But believing that people can be better, that's never going to be one of them."

Martha thought about everything that had happened since the Doctor had reappeared in her life, and found it hard to argue the point directly.

"There are some mistakes I can fix, though," the Doctor said. "Even if I should have done so a long time ago."

And then, suddenly, she had lunged forward and was kissing Martha. There was a strange urgency to it -- it was a kiss that the Doctor had definitely been the one to initiate, just as that time he'd "transferred DNA" to her back at the Royal Hope, but the way the Doctor was kissing her now it was obvious that she wanted to be kissed back, and more than that, she wanted Martha to take control.

Even as a thousand questions exploded in her head, Martha's instincts took over, and she grabbed the Doctor's head behind the ears, pulling her closer as she plunged her tongue into the Doctor's mouth, probing, exploring, running it back and forth along her lips and questing around for the tip of the Doctor's tongue. It felt as though the Doctor were melting into her, and certainly the skin on her neck was getting considerably warmer under Martha's fingertips.

They broke apart, and Martha looked into the Doctor's eyes once more, saw them filled with something that was more than a hunger, it was a _need_. A need that she seemed almost frightened to discover Martha could fulfil.

"Maybe this was just a different sort of mistake," the Doctor said. She stood up, checking her pockets as though she would have dropped the TARDIS key down the back of the sofa in the middle of their passionate embrace. "I'd better go pick up the fam, I'm not sure they're ready for always-on wearable computing ..."

Martha stood up too. "Doctor--"

The Doctor headed for the French window to the garden. "I'll see you around, Martha." Her tone was light, but earnest at the same time.

Martha followed her out, watching as she clambered back into the TARDIS, but had no idea what to say. Should she say that she could tell what it was the Doctor wanted, and knew how to give her exactly that? Or perhaps she should _insist_ that the Doctor come back and finish what they started, but would that be too much too soon and frighten her off forever?

When the Doctor turned around in the doorway of the TARDIS, she found herself saying, "That had better be a promise. About seeing me around."

"It is," the Doctor said, and the door closed.

A few moments later, the familiar all-encompassing sound of the TARDIS dematerialising filled her ears, spreading out all the way along the street, and the rope ladder began to flap in the sudden wind from nowhere. Martha ended up having to duck out of the way as it fell, abandoned by the TARDIS. She tried not to feel like she had too much in common with it.

* * *

Martha's dreams that night were fragmentary, confused, but they all began in the same place: on the sofa, with the Doctor kissing her. Her mind was working through all the possible permutations of what might have happened, all the things she might have said or done differently. And it seemed that her subconscious was pretty convinced that the Doctor had been desperate to submit to her, and then run away, frightened at the intensity of it. In her dreams, though, the Doctor was eager to please, including being willing to be tied up, tortured and teased in all the best ways. Was that really the reality of it, or just wishful thinking?

It had taken Martha far longer than it ought to have done to realise that she was a domme far more than she was attracted to any particular gender. Back at the time she'd started travelling with the Doctor, she'd just thought of herself as adventurous. If those adventures had often ended up with her hands tangled in someone's hair, pulling their head in to her mound so that they could lick her harder, that was just very sexy, wasn't it? Julia had been exceptional at giving head, back before things had become serious enough with her boyfriend that the "with benefits" part of their friendship ended. And if the fantasies that she'd stroked herself to, late at night in her bedroom in the TARDIS, had often involved riding the Doctor, that was just a matter of practically, surely? He was that much taller than her, after all.

It was when she was with Tom that she'd really begun to develop a better understanding of herself, though it had come at the cost of the end of the relationship. His enthusiasm for submitting to her had led them to exploring things in ways that had opened doors inside Martha's mind that she hadn't known had been there, but it had all ended up moving too fast for her to keep up with. She'd said yes when he'd asked her to marry him, but it had quickly become clear that what he really wanted was for her to _collar_ him, and she hadn't been ready for that, not back then.

After that had come a string of casual liaisons -- she'd carried on visiting the same clubs Tom had introduced her to, but in addition to that UNIT's unofficial hookup culture dated back to at least the '70s or '80s, and she had taken full advantage of the fact that many members of the organisation had what could best be termed an extremely healthy respect for the rank hierarchy -- until the disbanding of UNIT had brought Mickey back into her life in a big way. Having first met during the Dalek crisis, they'd kept in casual contact. When Martha's services, along with the entire organisation, had been summarily dispensed with, he'd come up with the idea of "going freelance", handling the same sort of issues UNIT had without the institutional backup. They had been extraordinarily successful, and their mutual enthusiasm for the job had inevitably drawn them together. Mickey had been very different to Tom -- endlessly bratty, but so very, very good where and when it counted. This time they had got as far as getting married, and they'd had six amazing years together. They'd broken up -- amicably enough as such things went -- over Martha's desire to take her current job; Mickey had long since got used to their peripatetic lifestyle, but Martha wanted the chance to make a difference in a more concrete way, and perhaps to finally use her medical training fully. The last she'd heard from Mickey, he had a new partner, a Geordie called Jake. She still wasn't sure whether he was also his new "partner".

And now, here was the Doctor, back in her life: completely different and yet exactly the same. As Martha's thoughts turned back to her, she slipped back into sleep and more of those delirious, delicious dreams.

* * *

`If extraterrestrial intelligences were involved, were they from any of these Recognised Earth-Involved Species? Tick as many as apply.`

The list went on for screen after screen, but -- what had the Doctor called them, Gandomorphodons? -- didn't appear anywhere.

Martha sighed as she realised how much of the form remained for her to scroll through and answer. The UN Extranormal Events Compensation Scheme would fully reimburse the cost of rebuilding the Silurian Ward, but only, it seemed, at the cost of a week or so of her time. It was almost enough to make you wish for the good old days of UNIT cover ups.

There was a knock at the door. Martha would have felt annoyed at being interrupted, had she not been glad of any type of distraction. "Come in!" she shouted.

The door opened just a crack, and a head popped through. "Is this a bad time?" the Doctor asked.

"No," Martha said. "I mean, yes, it is, I have this form to fill in, but-- actually, this isn't really your style, is it? Hanging around rather than swanning off in the TARDIS and leaving us mere mortals to sort out all the mess?"

"I couldn't not come and say goodbye properly to Martha Jones," the Doctor said, coming in properly. "I did make a promise, after all."

"Last time didn't count as a proper goodbye, then?" Martha asked, deliberately nonchalant. For the last four days, the memory of the kiss the Doctor had given her had risen unbidden to her mind on multiple occasions, not just when she was trying and failing to get to sleep.

"Well," the Doctor said. "Let's say it left things unresolved. Which, yes, I realise I've got form for. But I am trying not to make the same mistakes all over again." She scuffed her foot back and forth across the floor in front of Martha's desk. "Thought I'd try some new ones. Again. If you're up for it."

Martha got up and kissed her then. The Doctor didn't so much kiss her back as surrender herself to it, her mouth parting to Martha's probing tongue. Martha grabbed at her sides, pushing her backwards until the Doctor was not-quite-pinned against the wall of her office. Martha's hands went up, cupping the Doctor's breasts as she started to flick her tongue around the inside of the Doctor's lips.

Then the Doctor pulled away.

"Do you think ... maybe, we could ... or perhaps I should say _you_ could, well, be a doctor?" She glanced across at Martha's lab coat, hanging up on its peg. "That thing's very sexy."

"Are you asking what I think you're asking?"

"I've had this body a while now," the Doctor said. "I think it could do with a ... check up."

Martha translated it in her head into "a good seeing to", but she said, "And how long's 'a while'?" Martha asked. "A century? A millennium?"

"Oh no, I don't think it can have been more than a few years. Of course, it's hard to keep track, bouncing around the Time Vortex ..." She stopped talking suddenly, not so much a train of thought crashing into the buffers as a wave of words being dragged under by a bigger one breaking on top of it. This new Doctor was even worse for that the one she'd known. "I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to. But, well, I sort of thought maybe ... you might want to?" 

"Come with me," Martha said, grabbing the Doctor's hand and only just remembering to take her coat off its peg as she let the door swing shut behind her.

* * *

The isolation room -- unoccupied since Airon's recovery -- was one floor down from Martha's office. She put her eye to the retinal scanner and the outer door opened. The Doctor followed her into the small airlock and they waited a moment until the outer door was fully shut again, before the inner one opened. The gentle breeze coming from the positive pressure system pushed against them as they walked in.

Inside, it was a perfectly normal singularly occupancy hospital room, though those were rare enough these days, budgets being what they were. The main difference from the sort of thing she'd become used to back in the early noughties was that most of the monitoring devices and other equipment were much, much smaller, streaming their telemetry directly to the preferred interface devices of whichever staff were on hand.

"If you'd just like to hop up on the bed, there," Martha said. The Doctor did so enthusiastically.

Martha froze for a moment, unsure what to do. She had put the coat on in the lift, getting a most un-Doctor-like growl in response. And she knew how to do an _actual_ exam, of course. But what was she supposed to do to make it a sexy one?

Then, inspiration struck. She crossed quickly to where the equipment was stored at the side of the room and reached for the stethoscope.

Returning to the Doctor, Martha put it to her chest, and listened to the double heartbeat. Deliberately echoing the way they had first met, all the way back at the Royal Hope. The Doctor gave her a look that said that she realised the significance. And if Martha's hand dwelt longer than was strictly necessary against the curve of the Doctor's breast, well, that was the point, wasn't it?

"All seems normal," Martha said. "For you, anyway. Take a few deep breaths for me."

The Doctor did, and Martha felt with her hand the way her ribcage expanded and contracted as much as she listened to the sound with the stethoscope.

"I'm going to check your response to stimulus now," Martha said, fighting hard to keep a straight face. She let go of the stethoscope, so that it fell down in front of her, and ran her hand down the Doctor's torso until she was at the waistband of those ridiculous trousers. She pushed inside, and had to reach quite a long way before she found the Doctor's slit.

She was gratified to discover that the Doctor was already sopping wet. Martha looked up at her and saw that she was biting her lip. "That seems very encouraging," Martha said. "But I'll need to check how you respond to _further_ stimulation." She ran a finger along the Doctor's labia, deliberately being gentle so as not to have her finger slip inside her, until she reached her clit. As she drew slow, deliberate circles around it with her fingertip, she felt it stiffening. "There," said Martha just as the Doctor's breathing rate was becoming decidedly elevated. "Everything's definitely behaving as it should."

The Doctor looked like she was about to explode with frustration, but she picked up on the subtext of that last statement and just nodded.

Martha took her hand back out and stood up straight. "I'm afraid if we're going to do a thorough examination, you'll need to take your clothes off."

"Oh, right," the Doctor said. "Obviously. Definitely necessary." She got up off the bed and disposed of her clothes perfunctorily, then just ... stood there.

Martha realised that she was waiting to be told what to do next, but she was too busy drinking in the sight of the Doctor's body to decide immediately. Her breasts were every bit as gorgeous as she'd imagined while she'd been not-so-surreptitiously feeling them up, and the nipples standing erect -- whether from arousal or the sudden cold, Martha wasn't entirely sure -- looked almost as though they were designed to be bitten. Her cunt, meanwhile, was glistening with wetness, just as she'd known it would be.

"Touch your toes for me," Martha said, surprising herself as much as the Doctor.

The Doctor did so and Martha went around to stand behind her. She ran her hands down the Doctor's back, bringing them to rest on her almost obnoxiously pert arse. Martha had a sudden overpowering mental image of fucking the Doctor from behind: fisting her or using her strap-on.

Just as with the temptation to bite the Doctor's nipples earlier, she let the moment pass and the mental image fade away: it really wouldn't fit the scene. "Get back on the bed, please," she said, in as businesslike a tone as she could manage.

The Doctor lay down again and Martha turned "examining" her into an excuse to stroke her all over, exploring her curves, the litheness of her limbs -- all that running was bound to keep you in good shape, Time Lord physiology or no Time Lord physiology. "Roll over, please," she said eventually.

With the Doctor lying on her front, Martha again stroked her back, this time more like a massage, before running her hands up and down her legs several times. Eventually, though, she came to rest with her hands gripping the Doctor's arse cheeks firmly. The Doctor squirmed under her touch.

"Have I been a good patient?" the Doctor asked.

"Very much so," Martha said. "But there are still a few more things I need to check." She slipped her hand round so that it was underneath the Doctor. She could feel the heat and wetness of her cunt even before she brought it close enough to slide a finger inside. Finding the Doctor incredibly wet by this stage, she quickly added two more, and began pumping them in and out, increasing the pace rapidly.

Just as she had hoped, soon the Doctor was clamped around her fingers as she yelled out incoherently through her orgasm.

"And do you normally find it that easy to reach orgasm?" Martha asked, as though it was an entirely routine medical question.

Martha had thought the Doctor would barely be able to speak, but she managed to say, "That wasn't _easy_. That was the result of half an hour of sustained teasing. And a few weeks of thinking about it on my end." That was interesting, that the Doctor hadn't maintained the relative time difference from that night to now; had she worried that if she'd left it too long Martha would have lost interest? Why had it taken her so long to make up her mind? That one was easy, though -- this was the Doctor, after all.

"Well, perhaps it was," Martha said. "But I still think we should test whether you're capable of coming again."

"Don't you want to ... you know?"

"Maybe later," Martha said. "I'm enjoying being the one in charge for the moment."

"You could be in charge and tell me how to--"

Martha got up and leaned over the Doctor. "Let me put it another way: if I had my strap-on here, I'd fuck you so hard right now," she said.

The Doctor was silent for a moment, then said quietly, "Check the top drawer on the right."

Martha felt puzzled as she did as the Doctor suggested. Puzzlement turned to utter confusion when, on opening it, she found not just a decidedly not-standard-issue-hospital-equipment strap-on, but _her_ strap-on, in all its jet black moulded plastic glory, and already attached to its harness. "Doctor, did you break into my house to steal one of my sex toys?"

"Of course not," the Doctor said. "I just thought that if we ended up back there later, and then I borrowed it to bring back in time and secrete here for us to use now, that's where I'd hide it." She shrugged, an interesting gesture to watch when she was lying on her front. "I was playing the odds, really."

"Tiny bit cheating," Martha said.

"Tiny bit," the Doctor said. Her tone changed utterly as she said, "Please fuck me."

On one level, she was used to hearing the Doctor beg. Beg some intergalactic wrongdoer to reconsider their chosen course of action before it backfired horribly. Beg a group of desperate humans to collectively discover the better angels of their natures. Beg to be the one to be on the receiving end of some retribution or other, rather than someone else. But begging to be fucked, that was a new one for sure.

Quickly, she took off her own clothes, and attached the harness around her waist. The strap-on had a little nub at the base to provide stimulation to the wearer, and she took a moment to adjust it until it was resting _just so_ over her clit. Looking back over at the Doctor, she reached down into the pile of clothes on the floor and retrieved the lab coat, putting it back on. The Doctor's eyes went wide in a very satisfying way.

The Doctor started to climb up onto all fours, but Martha said, "No." She stifled a laugh. "I mean, remain in position, please."

The Doctor sank back down, and Martha crossed the distance to the bed in short order, climbing on top of her. She pinned the Doctor's legs between her own as she guided the strap-on into the Doctor's cunt. There was more resistance than she would have expected: the Doctor was still extremely tight from having come around her fingers, and of course with her legs squeezed tight the effect was accentuated. "You may feel a number of sensations," Martha said. "If there's genuine discomfort, let me know."

The Doctor nodded. Martha leaned forward, supporting herself by pushing down on the Doctor's back, and began to slide slowly in and out. The feeling that she was fucking the Doctor after she had just come was exciting feelings of dominance in her that she had never experienced so intensely before. She had enjoyed taking people with it on many occasions, but there had always been an element of making sure they got off. But bringing the Doctor to climax just made her feel even more in control.

Soon enough, the Doctor was coming again, grunting this time as Martha fucked her steadily. Martha continued, the way the strap-on was rubbing against her just beginning to take her on the road to her own orgasm.

After a moment, though, the Doctor said, "Sorry, I think it is too much now. I don't know if you noticed, but you just made me come _very_ hard."

Martha pulled out, kneeling up above the Doctor. "Yes, everything's functioning very satisfactorily in that department." As she spoke, the strap-on bobbed up and down and just for a moment it rested between the Doctor's arse cheeks. The Doctor's whole body stiffened: Martha felt it where her thighs were still gripping the Doctor's, saw it in the tensing of her shoulders.

Martha lowered herself down more deliberately this time. The strap-on, thickly coated in the Doctor's cunt juices, slid easily along her arse. "There's one more thing I'd like to test," she said. "Your vaginal secretions seem to have excellent lubricant properties."

"Definitely a hypothesis worth exploring," the Doctor said.

"We'll have to be quick, though, before they dry in the open air. I think for this you should kneel up."

The Doctor scrambled to her hands and knees, and Martha wasted no time in guiding the strap-on into her arse, resting only for a moment after the tip had penetrated before sliding all the way in. "And how does that feel?" Martha asked.

"Amazing," the Doctor said simply. Then, after a moment, "You can ... go harder if you want."

Martha grabbed hold of her hips and began to fuck her more vigorously. "Are you sure this isn't too much?"

"No such thing as too much, right now," the Doctor said. "There's just ... everything. The everything-ness of being yours."

"You are mine," Martha said, half question, half affirmation. "We already know that I'm going to take you home tonight, or we wouldn't be able to be doing this right now."

"Please," the Doctor said. "Tell me what you're going to do with me."

"Whatever I want," Martha said. "That's rather the point of you being mine, isn't it?"

The Doctor grunted as Martha tightened her grip on her hips. "Oh, yeah. But I'd still like to hear specifics."

"My bed's much bigger than this," Martha said. "You're going to look so good tied to it, spread eagled. Not just your wrists and ankles; I'll tie your thighs so that they're spread wide apart, so I can lick you and fuck you. And those gorgeous breasts of yours, I haven't given them anywhere near enough attention yet." She was fucking the Doctor with abandon now, the angle just right for her clit, and the words the Doctor had encouraged out of her turning Martha herself on as much as the Doctor. "I'm going to make you come over and over and over again, until you're begging me to stop."

"I'll be begging you to let me make you come," the Doctor said.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm going to be riding your face half the night. You'll have the taste of me on your lips for weeks."

The thought of the Doctor on some alien planet, absent-mindedly licking her lips and remembering Martha, remembering that she _was_ Martha's, was what finally sent Martha over the edge. She pushed hard into the Doctor one more time and then collapsed over her, letting the orgasm explode through her.

"I can't wait," the Doctor said. "I'll do whatever you want."

"You really will, won't you?" Martha said. A thought struck her. "So if, for example, I told you to take something else with you ... and hide it somewhere else when you came here ..." She got up, the strap-on still protruding obscenely from her waist, and started searching in the cupboards above the work surface. "Don't move," she told the Doctor, when she saw from the corner of her eye that she was starting to adjust her position. On the top shelf, behind a stash of adrenalin, she found what was she was looking for.

Crossing back to the Doctor, she slid the small egg-shaped vibrator inside her still wet, but no longer quite so engorged, cunt. The Doctor gasped, and then practically shrieked when Martha activated the remote control in her other hand. After just a moment, she turned it off again. "We'll get dressed now," she said. "And then we'll walk back to mine through the park. It's not too far."

"I think I might find it a very long way," the Doctor said, as she got off the bed and started to pick up her underwear.

"Yes," Martha said, slipping the remote control into the pocket of her lab coat. "I suppose you might."


End file.
